367.

I miss the high of self destruction. The rush of adrenaline, hit of dopamine. The thrilling shivering, cascading through my nervous system when I knew I was slowly destroying myself.

I still do. Slowly destroy. But there’s no rush. There’s no sideways smirk and wink as I dive into a bad decision.

There’s just one too many glasses of wine on a Friday. One too many cigarettes after one too many cups of coffee.

I spent so long thinking life wasn’t worth trying to preserve. Now that I’m too cautious to up-end the precariousness of a livable situation – – I miss the destruction.